Roger Towman and the 2nd Precinct: The Jailhouse
by JayBird1
Summary: Second in the Roger Towman series. Read and Review. Please!


Saturday, October 5th, 1993  
  
It was 9:36 p.m. and I decided to take a visit to the old Burdensville City Jail. It was a quiet night, since it was Saturday, and in Burdensville there are quiet Saturday nights. Don't ask me why, but Burdensville itself has had a history of being a quiet city.  
  
So, as I drove down the quiet road, I thought about my last case, and the results of it. Chief Narold began to like me a lot more than before. That was a good thing. I did not get promoted, but I didn't expect to. Nevertheless that was a great case that I solved.  
  
I was approaching the parking lot for the jail. After I parked my car, I went into the quiet prison. When I entered, the first thing I saw was a desk. There was a sign above it. The sign read, "Please sign in here." Of course, I've seen this place before. This was the front office.  
  
Sitting behind the desk was Binston. He was keeping guard of the jail tonight. That was his second job. When I walked over to the desk, Binston saw me and yelled, "Glad to see you here!"  
  
We shook hands, and he told me to sit down. I then said, "How are you?"  
  
"I'm bored half to death."  
  
"I know that this can be a boring job, but at least you get paid."  
  
"Yeah, that's a good thing, but everything else about it is bad."  
  
I thought about what to talk about. Then, I had an idea of just what. I asked, "So, do you like the Chargers?" There was nothing else to talk about, so why not football?  
  
"Yeah, they're doing pretty good this year, and you know me, I always cheer for the good teams."  
  
"Of course! Why didn't I think of that? I've known you for several years."  
  
"Nine, to be exact!"  
  
"So, do you think the Chargers will go to the Super Bowl?" I asked.  
  
"Yes, I think they have a chance. Who do you want?"  
  
"Well, maybe the 49ers. Steve Young is an excellent quarterback! But you know, it's only October. The Super Bowl is in January."  
  
"You've got a point there."  
  
"Of course I've got a-"  
  
Suddenly, a scream was made. A horrified scream and it wasn't coming from Binston or me. We then decided to check the cells.  
  
"What could that have been?" I asked.  
  
"I don't know, but we might find our answer lying just ahead." When we entered through the door, we saw a large room. This was where the prisoners were located. There were about 15 cells in the room and all had at least one prisoner inside of it.  
  
Binston yelled, "All right, which one of you did the yelling!"  
  
All of them pointed to a certain cell, the cell of a Mr. Michael Froot. Binston told me that that cell belonged to Froot. That's how I got to know which cell it was, and who was inside of it.  
  
Well, we walked over to the cell, cell No. 8, and were shocked at what we saw. Inside was Michael Froot, but he was just not the same. He was dead. There was a knife sticking right out of his heart.  
  
"We better call an ambulance," Binston said.  
  
"Too late about that, let's just find out who did this mess."  
  
"Right!" Then he shouted to the prisoners, "All right, which one of you did this!" No one answered. He said it again, and no one answered. Then I said something.  
  
"Confess now! We'll be here all week to find out which one of you committed this crude act of murder. Now speak out!" No one answered.  
  
"Well, it looks like they've got each others' back," said Binston.  
  
"You're right about that." It looked liked that no one would answer us. We could've been here for the rest of the night to find out who murdered Froot, without anyone saying a word. We were in for a night to enjoy.  
  
But why wouldn't anyone speak? They had nothing to lose, unless they confessed. Then they would be in jail for a longer time than they already are. I knew that someone would talk, I just knew it.  
  
Ten minutes past without anybody saying a word. I decided to go inside the cell to inspect the body of Michael Froot. That's when I saw something unbelievable. I would like to correct myself by saying that I found two things that were unbelievable. The first one was the knife. Carved into the knife was this:  
  
B.L.+A.D.  
  
The second thing was when I looked around the beds. Behind the beds was a hole that was almost large enough for me to fit through it. I was quite astonished by this.  
  
"Binston, I've figured out how this happened," I said, and I showed him the hole in the wall.  
  
"I wonder how nobody saw this," he said. He was also surprised.  
  
"The murderer must have taken the knife, crawled through the hole, and stab Mr. Froot over here. That means only two people could've done it." I pointed to the cell next to cell No. 8, cell  
  
No. 7, and said, "These two are our prime suspects. Who are these people Binston?"  
  
"The tall one with glasses is Larry Boston, and the one with freckles is Terry Hill."  
  
"Thanks Binston." They looked at us in a superstitious way. They didn't want us to stare at them; neither did they want us to solve the case, because they know that they'll be in big trouble. "Okay, will one of you confess to the murder? It's the best way to end this, for everybody."  
  
Terry Hill then said, "But you don't know which one of us did it! Ha, ha, ha!" His laugh was frightening, but yet humorous.  
  
"Okay then, if you want it that way," Binston said, as he was about to pull out his baton. He was going to beat the heck out of the two prisoners. I was urged to stop him.  
  
"What are you doing?" Binston asked.  
  
"Let's wait until later, Binston, let's try to solve this case in a non-violent way."  
  
"Okay, have it your way," Binston said, and the he turned to the cell and said, "You two are very lucky!"  
  
I then stared at cell No. 7, and said, "Terry, what are you in for?" He told me that he hit his wife, Hope Darwin, many times, and got arrested for it. I asked the same thing to Larry, and he told me that he was shoplifting from many stores. Larry said that he stole over $100 of things, without getting caught, but then he did get caught, and he was sentenced for 2-3 years.  
  
"Well, well, well," I said. "Larry, tell us your story."  
  
"Okay then. I'll tell you what I saw. Well, I was sleeping, and I heard a scream. I then saw Terry, but he was in our cell. So, I didn't see him murder Mike, honestly."  
  
"Did you or Terry have a hard time with Mike?" Binston asked.  
  
"Not that I can remember, or maybe Terry had this one encounter. It was when Terry and Mike were betting on a football game, and Terry won the bet. Well, when Terry went to get his money, Mike refused. Then, Terry started punching and kicking him. The guard came and broke up the fight. He then started beating Terry until Terry was unconscious. Terry vowed to get revenge, somehow."  
  
"Is this absolutely true?" I asked.  
  
"Yes," he answered, "all true."  
  
I was silent for a few minutes. That was because I was thinking about how this murder could've happened. I was thinking of all the different scenarios in which this murder could've ended up. Maybe it was Terry, or maybe Larry was lying, and maybe Larry did it. I, then, inspected cell No. 8, and saw where the hole went through, a poster.  
  
"What's all this about?" I asked in anger.  
  
"That's the hole that was dug there, we don't know how it got there," Terry said.  
  
"Come on," I said, "You could have a better excuse." I started laughing. "Tell us your story Terry." The story he told me was the same as the one Larry told me. I was getting angry.  
  
"Did you see Larry and Michael having a hard time with each other sometimes?"  
  
"Oh yes, I did see this one time." He then said the same thing Larry told me earlier. I was getting confused. Binston and I wouldn't get anywhere if they have the same story. Or maybe we would.  
  
"I never did that!" Larry yelled.  
  
"Are you sure about that?" asked Binston.  
  
"I am sure, unless I lost my memory."  
  
"You probably did," said Terry. They then started screaming at each other, and soon a fight broke out. Now was the time for Binston to use violence, so we would have control over the situation. After the place was in control again, Larry had a bloody nose, and Terry was holding onto his arm. Like I told you, they had a fight.  
  
"Hey Roger, I'm getting thirsty. Do you want to go get some sodas?"  
  
"Sure," I answered to Binston. "Are you going to keep these two rats under control?"  
  
"They don't have a chance against me."  
  
"Okay then, what do you want?"  
  
"I'll take a Diet Coke. You could get anything you want. The refrigerator is out this door and to your left."  
  
"Thanks, I'll be back in a minute." I went walking out of the door to the hall, and then I turned left to where the refrigerator was. When I entered the room, I saw a man. He had a police officer's uniform on. "Hi," I said to him. "Did you hear about what happened?"  
  
"No, I have not. What happened?"  
  
"First, to tell you, my name is Roger Towman," I said to him, what is yours?"  
  
He paused for a second and said, "My name is Brian Lake. Now, can you tell me what happened?"  
  
"Oh yeah, well, a prisoner has been murdered."  
  
He was in shock. "Who?"  
  
"Michael Froot."  
  
"Oh, that's too bad."  
  
"I know. Well, I came in here to get a soda for Binston and me. You do know Binston, right?"  
  
"Oh, I know him. He keeps guard of this place about once a week."  
  
"Yes, that's right."  
  
Then he said, "Well, I better be getting back to my wife, it's 10:30. It was nice meeting you Roger." He walked away, but before he could get far, I said one more thing to him. I asked, "What's your wife's name?"  
  
"Andrea."  
  
"Thank you." After I said that, he turned to leave, but then he turned around to say something.  
  
"Why did you want to know my wife's name?"  
  
"Oh, I was just wondering. I know someone, and then I know their wife, it's just like that."  
  
"Okay, goodbye!"  
  
He left to the exit, and into his car, in the parking lot. I picked up a Diet Coke and a Coke, and left the room. I kept thinking about that Brian Lake person, while I was walking. He didn't act the same as many cops did. He looked a little scared.  
  
Well, I came back to where the cells were located, and saw Binston right where he was earlier.  
  
"Here's your Diet Coke," I said.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Hey, I saw this other person at the prison. His name was Brian Lake."  
  
"Oh, that person. I don't like him too much," Binston said.  
  
"Yeah, so what has happened."  
  
"Nothing, they were all quiet. I talked to them for a little bit, but nothing else. We'll be here for a while if no one confesses."  
  
"I know," I said. "I don't think that I'll be here any longer."  
  
"I understand. Goodbye Roger!"  
  
"Goodbye!"  
  
I left the room, and exited the building. I walked up, in the quiet night, to my blue Mercedes. The car was the same, nobody messed it up. I always checked my car, ever since that day when I went to work.  
  
It was a normal day, a regular day in Burdensville. I was driving to work for another day of misery. Well, everything went normal, until the evening. I was inside my office all day, and I went to my car to leave. The time was 8:02 p.m. When I saw my car, appearing under the streetlight, I gasped. My Camaro was destroyed! All the tires were stolen, the windows were all shattered, and the inside of my car was completely torn apart. When I checked to look for some money, in the glove compartment, the money was gone. It was only twenty dollars, though. That was the good thing, but my car was destroyed! That's when I bought my Mercedes. This happened three years ago.  
  
I went into my car to drive home. The time was 11:00 p.m. I was at the jail for an hour and thirty minutes, most of the time investigating the murder. I tried to figure out who it was, but I was nowhere near my case being solved.  
  
When I finally made it into my house, I ate a quick snack and went to bed. I didn't want to stay up too late, even though I had the day off. I still wanted to do some investigating, and some research also. If I would be able to solve this case, Chief Narold would probably give me a promotion, which means a better result for me. I didn't want to let this case slip by me, I didn't let the last one slip by. The last case, which was just over a week ago, I solved most of it by myself. Everyone on the force was shocked. I never achieved anything like that until a few days ago. If I were to solve another big case, which would mean two cases in less than a month, than I would probably get a promotion.  
  
My eyes doze to sleep, that evening, at about midnight. When I slept I dreamed, I dreamed about the success of promotion! Hey, what could I say, I was only making $30,000 a year. What if I needed to pay for medical needs? I didn't know what I would do, but I didn't care, I probably wouldn't have a problem like that. What if my car was destroyed, how would I be able to buy a new one? I was lucky that I was able to get the Mercedes. That was because I had rich parents! But now, they had much less money, so I couldn't ask for it now. So, getting a promotion would probably be a good idea.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sunday, October 6th, 1993  
  
  
  
I promised myself that I would, one day, be able to sleep in past 10:00 a.m. I did not recall a time in which I slept until then, until today. Yes, today I slept and slept. When I woke up, I glanced at my alarm clock. The time was 10:02 a.m.! I was so amazed by what I had seen that I ran out of my bedroom and into the shower. When I got out, the time was 10:30 a.m. I was ready to start my day, on this beautiful Sunday.  
  
Today, I had the day off, but I wanted to investigate the murder that took place last night. I pushed one of the buttons on my remote, and saw a vast world appear through my eyes, Cable Television. The channel by which it was on was WTVZ, or what many people call it, Channel 5. Well, when I was staring at this channel, I saw a small bar, gliding through the bottom of the television. This was shown whenever breaking news was announced. Breaking news it was. The moving bar read, "Man murdered in local jail last night." I had this feeling that this was the same murder that I witnessed, or should I say investigated, since I did not witness it. I couldn't have witnessed it, I did not know who did it, but I could make a pretty good guess.  
  
It was one of the two prisoners, I said to myself, but I thought of a lot of things a long time ago. Maybe it wasn't any of the two prisoners. What if Michael Froot became so depressed, that he killed himself? My questions will be answers by the end of this day, I said to myself. I turned off the television, went out the door, and dove into my car. I was off to the Burdensville Police Station.  
  
When I was driving, I tried to review the case so far. I tried to remember the clues, the suspects, and all the possible scenarios. I was going to solve this case by the end of the day by the way I'm doing things, I thought in my mind. I knew my head was working now.  
  
I was at Barry Street. That was right where the police station was.  
  
Barry Street had been a part of Burdensville ever since it was founded, in 1921. It was a medium-sized street, not to long, and not too short. I remembered the street like the back of my hand. I knew where the street lights, stop signs, and stores were. I even knew the stores' names. It was amazing that I knew all this, or maybe not. I lived here for many years now.  
  
I was now in the parking lot. I finally reached my destination, the Burdensville Police Station. My Mercedes parked not to far away from the entrance. When I parked, I saw a familiar car right next to mine. It didn't take me but a half of a second to realize that the car I saw was Binston's car.  
  
I went inside into the station. I planned to do some research on some things pertaining to the murder, mainly on the people who were a part of it. So, I reached for the filing cabinet. This had information on every past and present criminal, and information about all of the police officers that work in the city. I knew that I would find some answers in here, and I did. I found out about Michael Froot, and I found about all the crimes that he committed. He had been in and out of the prison for 10 years now!  
  
I did not figure out who the murderer was, though. I tried and tried, but I couldn't find anyone that could be 100% guilty. I made an overview of both Larry Boston's and Terry Hill's files, and I couldn't prove them guilty. Suddenly, something transferred into my head, and I got back to my investigating.  
  
After I was done, I went to grab something to eat at Grand Burger. I had the usual, two cheeseburgers and a coke. Boy, did I love cheeseburgers. They taste so good. The taste was the same today. Maybe it was the way Grand Burger cooked their cheeseburgers that made them taste so good. Probably, I thought.  
  
When my lunch was finished, I began my trip, again, to the Burdensville City Jail. I was going to solve this case before anyone else if my hypothesis was right. I knew I was right, there was just no doubt about it. To the jail, I went. I was almost there.  
  
The thrill pumped quickly into my mind. I was going to have an excellent Sunday today. I was now in the parking lot, and I was ready to go, I was sure that I was. I parked my car, and opened the door into the outdoors of the prison. There were just a few more steps to go before I would reach the prison.  
  
Of course I would make it to the jail. When I entered, I saw many more police officers than I did yesterday. I then walked over to another one of the other policemen.  
  
"Have you found anything out?" I asked.  
  
"No, not yet. Binston checked the knife for fingerprints, and he went to the police station to find out who fingerprints stamp on the knife that was used to murder Michael Froot." So, that's why Binston was at the station, I thought.  
  
"Do you know when he'll be back?"  
  
"No," said the officer. Just then a man appeared through the doorway. It was my good friend, Binston.  
  
"Good afternoon Binston," I said. "Did you find anything out?"  
  
"You bet your life I did! Neither of the two prisoners, in the other cell, has their fingerprints placed on this knife."  
  
"That's strange, very strange," I said. Then I made a little of a mixture of a smirk and a smile. "Then my hypothesis is correct. The murderer of Michael Froot is Officer Brian Lake!"  
  
Binston was shocked. "Roger, I know I hate him and all, but you just can't say something like that. Plus, he is in the jail right now!"  
  
"Please Binston, I have all the fingers pointing at him. You see I did some research this morning at the police station, and I made an excellent discovery. Brian's wife, Andrea, is one of my most precious clues. Her maiden name is Davenport."  
  
"And what does that mean?"  
  
"Well I'll get to that. Did you see the carved letters on the knife?"  
  
"Yes, I did."  
  
"B.L. is Brian Lake, and A.D. is Andrea Davenport. I'm most certain that that is true. Do you know what I'm talking about now?"  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
"Another thing was that I found out that Brian would always carve into knives. The knife looks pretty old, and Mr. Lake has been married to Andrea for 7 years now. You could make a reasonable guess that Brian carved the message into that knife before the two were married."  
  
I continued again. "My last clue was Brian's connection to the city jail. He has been a guard here for 9 years now. So, he would know a lot about Michael Froot, because Michael had been in this jail, off and on, for 10 years."  
  
"Amazing, Roger! What I have to add is when I tried to find out whose fingerprints the knife had. When I investigated the prints, the only matches were those of several police officers. One of them, I'm glad to say, was Brian Lake. So, I believe that you are right, this case is solved. Let's go find him."  
  
We looked for Mr. Lake, and saw him where many other officers were talking. Binston pulled out his handcuffs, and surprised Brian like anything else. We had captured the culprit.  
  
"All right, I did do it!" Brian Lake yelled.  
  
I soon found out why he did it. Many prisoners bribed him for things from the outside. Michael saw all of this. Brian would make so much money for this, and Michael knew all about everything he gave and received. That was because he was there for 10 years. Brian didn't want to lose his job, so he bribed Michael Froot for him to be quiet. Michael wouldn't. So, Mr. Lake killed him.  
  
This was the greatest case I solved, so far. I plan to continue to investigate more and more cases, but plan to meet many challenges. I will write again about another case that I encounter. 


End file.
